


Like Porcelain

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Caretaking, Chris Argent Appreciation Week, Daddy Dom Chris, Daddy Kink, Day 3: Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Feminization, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Control, POV Chris Argent, Praise Kink, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: Chris murmurs sweet nothings as he shampoos his boy’s hair and scrubs him gently with a washcloth. He knows it’s hard, that Stiles fought him in the beginning because it seemed like condescension, and it makes something dark and possessive unfurl in his gut to watch his pretty baby struggle andlethim.“Alright baby, brace yourself on the tile. Feet apart—that’s it.” If he were a werewolf, he’d be rumbling at the way Stiles obeys. He drags his teeth across the exposed nape as he cleans his boy out, gets him ready for later. He’s thorough, and Stiles’s breaths are hitching by the time he’s done. “You did so well for me, baby. I’m proud of you.”





	Like Porcelain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DenaCeleste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenaCeleste/gifts).



> Yeah, so, I'm definitely late for the Day 3 theme, but Chris refused to be rushed. Here, have some Daddy kink filth from the daddyest motherfucker in the TW 'verse. 
> 
> This is also pulling double-duty as a birthday gift for the incomparable DenaCeleste (which I'm also late for, are you noticing a pattern yet?), so happy birthday, Dena! Love you muches! 
> 
> Big thank yous go to Greenie, moonlightcalls, SlasherFiend, and red_crate for cheering this one and helping me get to the finish line, and thanks to BelleAamante for help in polishing it. Happy Friday everyone! *throws handful of rainbow-dick confetti*

 

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and the Sheriff is pulling a double. He won’t be home for his son tonight, but then, he’s rarely there for Stiles even when he _is_ home.

It’s why Chris told his boy to come over tonight. Why he gave strict instructions to go home after practise, pack an overnight bag, and bring it and any homework with him. It’s nearly five-fifteen, and he fully expects his boy to show up any minute now.

Sure enough, Stiles barrels through his door not five minutes later. He drops his stuff as directed before coming to get a hug, sagging when Chris holds him close. Chris can’t help but think that the flesh between his hand and Stiles’s ribs is thinner than he’d like.

It’s only one reason of many he’s cooking them dinner tonight.

He settles Stiles in the living room with his homework—sprawling across the coffee table and nearly spilling onto the floor—before going back to making dinner. Homemade mac ‘n cheese, garden salad, apple dumplings for dessert. Comfort food, all of it, and more than tempting enough to ensure Stiles eats a decent amount.

(If it also means there’ll be leftovers he can send home with his boy, ensuring that there’s a meal waiting for the next night the Sheriff isn’t home and Stiles can’t bring himself to cook, that’s neither here nor there.)

He checks in on his boy a few times, but Stiles seems surprisingly focussed. The lack of internet rabbit holes to fall down probably helps, and he’s finishing the last of it when Chris lets him know dinner’s being served. It makes him feel warm, proud, when Stiles doesn’t get up, doesn’t abandon his schoolwork to help him set the table.

When he’s here, it’s not his job. His job is to follow the few rules his Daddy has in place, and one of those rules is that his first priority is to finish any homework he might have. It took a while, but baby learned he means business. That the rules aren’t for show—they matter, because Stiles does, and every single one is to benefit him.

They chat over dinner—nothing supernaturally-related—and he’s pleased that Stiles takes seconds. With the Adderall, it’s all too easy for the boy to lose weight, and he’s built lean as it is. Which, now that he thinks of it—“You brought your medication with you, yes?”

Stiles nods. “Yes, Daddy. I know I’ll need it in the morning before school.”

He gives his baby a little smile. “Good. I’m proud of you for remembering.”

The blush that colours the mole-spotted cheeks in response to praise is so, so pretty. He never gets tired of seeing it. Before he can comment on it, the oven timer buzzes, and he pulls the dumplings out. He leaves them on the counter to cool while Stiles helps him clear the dinner dishes, pack up leftovers, and load the dishwasher.

They savour dessert. He’s careful not to rush, knowing Stiles is taking cues from him. He’s hungry for the boy—for all the pretty sounds he’ll make—but that doesn’t mean impatient. He was brought up with the belief that anything worth doing is worth doing _well_ , and Stiles is absolutely worth it.

By the time he ushers baby upstairs, the poor thing is nearly jittering out of his skin with need. But he’s good, so good, and lets Chris guide him into the bathroom, and stays quiet as Chris peels away the layers he wears. By the time they’re pressed skin-to-skin, Stiles is already flushed. It’s not from the warm water—it’s because he knows what comes next.

Chris murmurs sweet nothings as he shampoos his boy’s hair and scrubs him gently with a washcloth. He knows it’s hard, that Stiles fought him in the beginning because it seemed like condescension, and it makes something dark and possessive unfurl in his gut to watch his pretty baby struggle and _let_ him.

“Alright baby, brace yourself on the tile. Feet apart—that’s it.” If he were a werewolf, he’d be rumbling at the way Stiles obeys. He drags his teeth across the exposed nape as he cleans his boy out, gets him ready for later. He’s thorough, and Stiles’s breaths are hitching by the time he’s done. “You did so well for me, baby. I’m proud of you.”

He doesn’t have to be a werewolf to see the flush reddening the back of his boy’s neck, or the way his praise makes Stiles’s cock jump. He ushers them out, and doesn’t insist on drying his boy off himself. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t watch. Stiles hangs up the towel once he’s damp instead of dripping, and turns on the Bambi eyes.

It’s a good thing he loves the manipulative little shit.

He grips the back of Stiles’s neck and guides him into the bedroom. “I want you bent over the bed for me.”

Baby’s mad scramble to get into position is gorgeous. He takes a moment to appreciate it before fishing the lube and toy he’s after out of the night table drawer, setting both in easy reach. Stiles licks plush lips when he steps up behind the boy. He pours lube over his fingers, and starts warming it while his other hand strokes up and down his boy’s back. He likes touching, likes that he’s the only one who’s allowed, but having Stiles melt into the bed is a great perk.

It means he takes the first finger easily, his body soft and needy. He moans, and it makes Chris’s dick twitch. “That’s it, baby. Gonna open you up nice ‘n easy.”

Stiles arches, rocking back into the press of the finger flexing slowly inside him. “Please, Daddy?”

He ignores the whine as he withdraws his index finger, only to start carefully pressing two into his greedy boy. “I’ll give you what you need, you just have to relax and let me.” Stiles heaves in a deep breath and lets it out shakily, going limp. His eyes are closed, and he’s panting, but he’s still. “You’re being so good for me.”

The praise elicits a whimper, and he has to take a deep breath because this boy makes him want so intensely he considers throwing his plan for the night out the window. But only for a moment. He starts stretching with the two fingers he’s got in his boy, still stroking every part of Stiles he can reach with his free hand. “I’m gonna get you nice and open, baby, and then I’m gonna fill you with a plug.” Stiles gives a distressed whine, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s not happy with Chris’s plan. “Listen closely, baby. You listening?” Stiles nods, face half-buried in his comforter. “Good. Because you give up control here, and that means I decide if and when and how you come. We clear?”

“Yes, Daddy.” The words and tone are meek, but Stiles’s hands fist in the blanket. This is a struggle for him.

“Alright then.” He slides his fingers free, gets a fresh coat of lube, and then goes back to stretching Stiles out. “Here’s how tonight’s gonna go: once you’re ready for it, I’m going to plug you. It’s the big one, the one you like. Then, you’re going to get on your knees and wrap those perfect lips around me, suck me off. If you do a good job, I’ll let you come.”

Stiles groans, hips rolling. “I’ll be good, Daddy, promise I will.”

He grins. “I believe you.” And he does. His baby gives fantastic head, especially when properly motivated.

He’s so good as Chris finishes prepping him, though he can see Stiles biting his bottom lip. The high-pitched whine when he starts working the plug in is music to Chris’s ears, especially the moment it drops into something low and filthy as the toy slides home, Stiles’s rim clamping shut around the neck. He gives the broad base a little flick, just to hear the boy keen.

Stiles’s face scrunches at that, his lithe body trembling as he fights not to rut against the bed. Chris drops light kisses across his shoulders and back, murmuring, “That’s it, baby. Ride it out. You always take it so pretty for me, make it so hard for me to let you out of my bed.”

Stiles’s voice is breathy and thin when he asks, “Daddy, please? Please can I suck you now?”

He steps away for a moment. He doesn’t want to, but his baby can’t move otherwise. “Sure thing, sweetheart. You get settled on the carpet, I’ll be right back.”

There’s one more thing he wants tonight. He pads to the bathroom, plucks the tube from the left-hand drawer, and comes back to the sight of Stiles wriggling slightly where he’s sitting on his heels. He smiles. There won’t be a way for his pretty baby to kneel without being aware of the plug, and he’s already looking forward to all the delicious squirming.

He slides in front of Stiles and sits, thighs spread wide to accommodate his baby’s shoulders. He uncaps the tube, and tilts Stiles’s chin up. “Okay?”

He stares at the lipstick in Chris’s hand before licking his lips and rasping, “Yeah.”

He presses a kiss to Stiles’s forehead in thanks before carefully painting the pouty, slightly chapped lips with the dark berry lipstick. It’s a lovely colour on him, almost a wine-red, and makes his skin look like porcelain. “You’re so beautiful when you wear makeup for me.”

Stiles blushes, pressing his lips together. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He cups the back of his baby’s neck, pulling forward. “Come on, then, baby doll—show Daddy how good you are at sucking cock.”

Stiles closes his lips delicately around Chris's erection, and it's heavenly. He slowly pulls half the length into his mouth, but it's all soft heat and gentle passes of tongue. “Come on now, baby. Be a good girl and suck me properly or I’ll have to fuck your face.” He sees Stiles flush, and knows he needs to nip any potential brattiness in the bud. “If I have to pull your hair and fuck your throat, I will, but making me do all the work isn’t what I want and you know it. It also means you absolutely won't be allowed to come when I'm done. Understood?”

Stiles nods frantically, cheeks hollowing as he begins to suck. Chris groans, rocking forward a little. “Yeah, just like that, baby. You know how I like it.” Stiles moans around his mouthful before pulling back enough to flutter his tongue. Chris pets the back of his head. “You’re so pretty with my cock in your mouth, sweetheart. Makes me wanna keep you on your knees all the time.”

Stiles looks up at him with pleading eyes, and he chuckles. “Yeah, I know—you’d like that, wouldn’t you? But I wouldn’t neglect you.” He guides Stiles’s head, his hips shifting back and forth, and baby catches on, moving in the perfect rhythm. “Because as beautiful as you are sucking me, I can’t resist the way you whine and beg when I’m stuffing your greedy little cunt.”

At that, Stiles makes a desperate sound, his hands clenching on Chris’s thighs. He’s pretty sure it’s so that baby doesn’t touch himself and come without permission. He thinks about it, about the way his sweetheart looks and sounds and feels under him, and he comes. Stiles swallows, slurping, trying to prove he’s good.

And, well. Chris can’t deny that he has been. So he kisses those puffy, berry-smeared lips once they let him go, and murmurs, “Touch yourself for me.”

Stiles doesn’t hesitate to take himself in hand, but doesn’t start stroking. “Am I allowed to come, Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby doll. I want you to come for me.”

It only takes a few strokes as he rocks back against the plug filling him before Stiles spills over his knuckles. He leans forward, resting his head against Chris’s knee as he tries to catch his breath. Chris combs through the thick hair with his fingers.

And, after Stiles’s breaths have evened out and he’s looking up with a question in his eyes, Chris tells him, “You’re gonna get up on the bed, and we’re gonna rest. You might even sleep a while. And, when I’m ready, I’ll turn you on your tummy and take the plug out so I can sink into that sweet cunt of yours, and you’re going to take it like the good girl you are. Sound good?”

The flush that had started to fade rushes back into his baby’s cheeks. “Yes, Daddy,” he breathes.

Chris smiles, then leans down to kiss Stiles’s forehead. “And baby?” he whispers. “You’re not allowed to come a second time unless it’s on my cock.”

Stiles whimpers, and lets Chris manhandle him up onto the bed. Lying there, feeling his baby shift restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position with the plug, he gives into the urge to kiss his boy. Stiles goes pliant, lets him take, and it’s so sweet, the way he does everything his Daddy asks of him. Chris can’t help the deep satisfaction he feels, the _pride_ in being the Daddy this beautiful boy deserves.

 

**Author's Note:**

> . . . and now, back to clearing out my WIP folder . . . 
> 
> (See you at next week's instalment of trash)


End file.
